


Lie to Me (Lie with Me)

by Anonymous



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Minghao is tired of how Seungcheol won't let go.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gagforglory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gagforglory/gifts).



> [Minghao really really likes Seungcheol and Seungcheol really likes him too but he also really likes Jihoon and...it's a mess.]
> 
> Hello recipient! 
> 
> fjfdjal It's my first time writing anything for this fandom, hehe. I hope you enjoy. ^^
> 
> P.S. This was a lot angstier than I intended it to be. ^^;; Sorry!
> 
> WARNING!!!! There's a bit more than implied infidelity in this fic.

Minghao and Seungcheol are high school sweethearts. No one they know can confirm this for sure, but their thoughts are linked in the way only longtime lovers understand. Everyone watches, intrigued, as the two move together with quiet ease. Despite the dense club atmosphere, Minghao looks like an angel in the arms of the Devil, Seungcheol. Soonyoung watches, unimpressed at the open-mouthed kisses his co-worker litters on Minghao’s pale neck. Beside him, Jihoon inhales a mouthful of unidentifiable liquid.

“Those two are so…” Jihoon swirls his concoction in its half-full bottle as he speaks, not quite drunk, but sober enough to know that he will need the rest of the bottle. “…Open.” He settles.

Soonyoung snorts and plucks the bottle from his hands, casually taking a sip as Jihoon protests beside him. “If you’re jealous, say so.” But Jihoon only whines lightly and snatches his drink back, glaring heavily at the older. He feels something deep, dark, and painful prickle inside his heart, but drowns the feeling with more alcohol.

 _High school sweethearts or not_ , he scoffs, _Seungcheol and Minghao belong together_.

~

Minghao can confirm that he and Seungcheol are not, in fact, high school sweethearts. The way he sinks into the couch after a long day of work is evidence of this, Seungcheol barely sparing him a glance as he slips into the bathroom for a long shower. During this time, Minghao has enough of a break to curl onto his side and press his face into a pillow, sheltering his tears from the harsh light of reality. Minghao is pushing twenty-three, but he feels five times his age as he watches the love of his life slowly escape through his fingers like sand in an hourglass while he watches, empty.

~

Minghao and Seungcheol both work for Pledis International, a company associated with top tier models. Seungcheol always looks in his element, his rugged handsomeness and easy smile rocketing the company into stardom. Minghao hates it. As a make-up artist, his wandering eyes are always on Seungcheol, watching the way Pledis’ rookies crowd around him. He hates the way they throw themselves at him. He hates the way Seungcheol responds, with suggestive smirks and flirtatious touches. He hates the way he can’t compete. He has just enough time to start hating himself before Seungcheol stalks out of the bathroom, towel wrapped securely around his waist, and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. These days, the kisses are the only reason Minghao stays.

When the lights go out, all bets are off. Minghao retreats into the guest bedroom and spends his nights wondering why he isn’t good enough, even though he knows the answer. The wild moans of whatever model Seungcheol flirted up that day fill their shared apartment, but Minghao wants to leave and never come back. He presses the pillow against his ears, hearing only his own regret and the sympathetic gazes of others echo back to him. He loves Seungcheol. Seungcheol says he loves Minghao in return. The sting of their own lies wrestles Minghao in a dreamless sleep.

When Minghao wakes up, he makes enough breakfast for two people but takes nothing for himself. He knows from experience that last night’s whore has already slipped away, but convinces himself that it will benefit him to lose the weight. He takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth with Seungcheol’s toothbrush. His own reflection in the mirror is inhuman, the epitome of sleepless nights and carelessness. Minghao is angry. But the mirror shares none of his sentiment. He slams the glass with his fist, but gains only pain for his trouble. Seungcheol finds him sobbing on the bathroom floor for the third time that week and comforts him with the same lies that pushed them to destruction.

~

It’s a normal evening after dinner when Minghao brings it up. He has been delegated to dish duty, and the loud murmur of whatever TV channel Seungcheol has on tries its hardest to drown him out.

“My friend from high school transferred over a few weeks ago.” Seungcheol doesn’t respond to Minghao’s comment, only glancing up at him passively from his seat on the couch. “He’s taking on some managerial duties. I asked him who they gave him and-” Seungcheol picks up the remote from their small, empty coffee table, flicking aimlessly from channel to channel. “-he told me that one of them was you.”

The loud clatter of the remote as Seungcheol tosses it carelessly back onto the coffee table is something they both ignore. Minghao finishes wiping off the last dish as Seungcheol sneaks into the kitchen to press a kiss against his forehead. Minghao knows this as a sign of fatigue and watches as he slips away into their bedroom.

“His name is Jihoon,” Minghao whispers to himself, long after Seungcheol has made his escape. By himself, he quietly puts away the now-dry dishes and makes his way back into the guest bedroom, looking longingly at the closed door of the room they used to share.

~

“I’m just saying,” Junhui has a lot of opinions, but Minghao chooses not to voice his own. “That I think you should reconsider. He’s not treating you right, Haohao.”

“Don’t call me that.” Junhui also thinks Minghao is delusional, but Minghao knows. Just like he knows he will never be good enough for Seungcheol.

 _But there are also things Junhui will never know_ , he reminds himself, _like how Seungcheol kisses me good night every day, and how he comes home every night even though he doesn’t have to. He comes home to me._

And so, Minghao fools himself. The lies are imbedded into his skin. Seungcheol tugs a little bit and lets the words unravel, and Minghao watches as he scribbles a little more, filling inch by inch by inch with permanent ink. Minghao is trapped, but he can only watch. Watch, and know.

~

Seungcheol starts coming back later and later. He never brings girls back anymore, but the faint smell of alcohol and cigarettes linger on his clothing like permanent stains. As Minghao does the laundry, he wonders if Seungcheol even notices the smell anymore, too intoxicated by his own brand of poison. The only upside to this is that Seungcheol takes the time to carry Minghao from the guest bedroom to their own, arms wrapped securely around his narrow waist. Sometimes, if Minghao is still awake, Seungcheol fucks him slowly into the mattress and pretends that there is still love between them, not the self-hatred that has seeped into Minghao’s bones. Like this, Minghao forgets all the late-night kisses and lost conversations, crying into the pillows of an unfamiliar bed.

A few weeks pass in this kind of harrowing peace. Every night, Seungcheol pulls Minghao to bed. Sometimes, they skip the sex and Minghao just enjoys the restricting warmth of Seungcheol’s arms. More often than not, though, Seungcheol kisses apologies into the back of his neck as he fucks roughly into Minghao. On these nights, Minghao can feel remorse seep into his bones, feels it in the way Seungcheol’s tears drip down his face onto the clear skin of his back. He wonders why until one day, he doesn’t have to anymore.

~

On the days that Minghao work late, Seungcheol usually heads out first with his co-workers to grab drinks. This information isn’t new to him, and neither is the fact that Seungcheol usually skips home and goes straight to a hotel with someone slim and pretty on his arms. Which is why Minghao is in slight shock when he hears voices echo through the apartment, cautiously tip-toeing towards the kitchen to drop his bag onto the island. Accomplishing this, he decisively ignores Seungcheol and company, opting instead to retreat into the guest bedroom. He only makes it a few steps past the door to their shared room when he feels dread sink into his stomach.

“Are you sure this is ok?” Jihoon’s voice is soft, as usual, but distinctly unmistakeable. He hears Seungcheol laugh in response, a happy sound that Minghao hasn’t heard in months.

“He’s working late tonight. He won’t ever know.” Minghao wants to feel angry, but the only thing he can identify of his mess of emotions as he retraces his steps into the kitchen and out the door is disappointment.

He crashes at Junhui’s lavish apartment, a place no more foreign to him than his own home. Junhui holds him as he sobs, his cousin’s arms wrapped reassuringly around his waist. He alternates between choking sobs and painful breaths, but convince Junhui in between all this mess that he needs to go back to China. He allows Junhui to book him on the next flight out, and acquiesces when the elder offers him the bed for the night. Minghao knows that the boy is biting back the stinging ‘ _I told you so_ ,’ and feels grateful for the first time in a long time that he isn’t spending the night alone.

~

Seungcheol is a mess when he wakes up in the morning, lying on one side of a cold, half-empty bed. He throws his arm out, searching for Minghao, and feels panic settle at the pit of his stomach when he feels only cold sheets. He jumps out of bed and rushes into the guest bedroom, what he understands to be a regular haunt of Minghao’s. When his search comes up empty, he feels panic sink into his gut. Heading back to his room to grab his phone, he immediately dials Junhui once he has it in his hands.

“Junhui? I can’t find Haohao.” Junhui mumbles incoherently on the other line, clearly fatigued.

“Why are you looking for him?” Junhui shakes himself awake at the sound of Minghao’s name. He glances over at the closed door of his room and makes an executive decision. “You have Jihoon now, don’t you?”

Seungcheol holds his breath and the line is silent for a beat before harsh laughter fills the line. “It’s not like that,” he manages to stutter back, but Junhui is unconvinced. “Where is he? We need to talk.”

“He’s on his way back to China,” Junhui says, getting up to lean against the wall outside his occupied room. “He left this morning.”

“What?” Seungcheol sounds distraught, but Junhui thinks about how Minghao sobbed himself to sleep in his arms and has no sympathy.

“Yea, he’s at the airport. His flight leaves in an hour or two.” Junhui responds while looking at the back of his nails. He is unsurprised when the call ends, but startles when his phone buzzes with 3 new messages.

 **[8:42AM Seungcheol]** Which airport is he at?  
**[8:42AM Seungcheol]** What time is his flight?  
**[8:43AM Seungcheol]** Where is he flying too?

Junhui scoffs and leaves the messages on ‘read,’ moving into his room to wake Minghao. He plugs his phone in to charge as he gently shakes his cousin awake before heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

It’s another 15 minutes before Minghao finds the strength to get out of bed. He trips his way into the ensuite bathroom, cringing at his reflection when he gets there. He takes in his swollen eyes and still tear-streaked cheeks and swallows them down with the bitter taste of regret. He spends 20 minutes in the bathroom, mind uneasy and drifting as he pulls a comb through his hair. He jumps when he hears ringing from the bedroom and grows increasingly annoyed as the ringing refuses to stop. At his limits, he throws down the comb and stalks out of the bathroom, arriving just in time for the ringing to stop. He makes to turn away when the phone chimes sadly. Frustrated and tired, Minghao angrily unplugs the phone and jumps back onto the bed. He regrets picking it up the moment he clicks the home button to unlock it.

 **[9:19AM Seungcheol]** 4 MISSED CALL(S) **  
[9:22AM Seungcheol]** Please

Minghao scrolls quickly through the past conversation and feels tears pool in his eyes. He doesn’t think, responding before he realizes what he’s doing.

 **[9:28AM Junhui]** He’s leaving from the airport downtown. His flight is at 12. You better hurry.

After he presses send, Minghao hugs the phone to his chest. _It’s a damn shame_ , he thinks to himself.

_It’s a damn shame._

~

It’s 11:10 before Seungcheol shows up, looking unfairly attractive even with his excessive panting (from running from the parking lot to the gate) and mismatched socks. Minghao watches, feeling detached and distant even as Seungcheol holds up a hand to stop him from boarding. _You don’t owe him anything_ , he recalls Junhui telling him on the way to the airport, actions still rigid and stilted from when he found Minghao crying, hugging his phone to his chest. But Minghao knows he’s wrong. Seungcheol holds Minghao’s heart in his hands, even as his body clutches tightly to his boarding pass, working in tandem with his mind’s rash decision.

Minghao is yanked out of his thoughts as Seungcheol throws his arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” Minghao hears him say, but he can only focus on how much this embrace hurts, how much he wants to leave it. Eventually, he manages to extract himself from Seungcheol’s familiar arms. He sneaks a look at Seungcheol’s face and is suddenly filled with inexplicable regret. Seungcheol’s eyes are red, a clear sign of the tears he shed on the drive here, and Minghao is certain that he didn’t shave before leaving the house this morning. He laughs internally- short, bitter barks of laughter. _Life is unfair_ , he thinks to himself as Seungcheol presses onward with his own thoughts.

“Is this it then? You’re leaving?” Minghao turns away. He doesn’t want to look at Seungcheol and feel like the bad guy. He ignores the question at first, taking tentative steps towards the gate, before changing his mind and turning to look Seungcheol in the eye.

“You and I…” Minghao starts, but trails off as if he doesn’t want to finish. “We aren’t high school sweethearts.” His voice is quiet by the time he completes his thoughts, but his posture screams things that Seungcheol doesn’t want to pick out. Minghao wraps his arms tightly around himself, looking away. Both are quiet until they hear Minghao’s name announced on the loudspeaker, calling for him to board. He doesn’t look back when he picks up his carry-on, calling his good-bye’s shakily behind him. Seungcheol wants to yell at him, tell him to stop, tell him he belongs here, but his voice is lost in the hollow sound of a lost chance.

~

Seungcheol spends the next two weeks miserably, spending nights on the coach and, occasionally, in the guest room. He stops bringing home girls, stops going out with Jihoon, stops being. Instead, he lives in a past of too-loud laughter and too-warm cuddling, sobbing quietly to himself when he realizes that even those memories are old and distant. He takes another week off from work, fighting hard with Jihoon for the extended leave, and wonders where they went wrong. He finds the answer after three or four days of doing nothing but sitting on the couch, looking for food in the fridge, and crawling into the guest bed at 3AM. He finds the answer in the couch that Minghao went to purchase by himself, at the empty fridge that was never stocked because Minghao never ate, self-conscious and lacking reassurance, and at the color of the guest bedroom which Minghao had painted his favorite shade of blue. He finds the answer, but with the answer, he also finds the regret he had at some point lost in his own negligence. He spends the final days of his break filled with remorse and wishing for sunshine days to come back.

Seungcheol is bombarded with assignments when he returns to work. He takes the load with a smile, but it feels forced. Jihoon can tell, he knows, but as long as Jihoon doesn’t say anything, neither will he. The day passes without much fanfare, and Seungcheol sprawls himself over loveseat in the lobby as he finally removes the mask he put on for his clients. He hears someone call his name and recognizes Jihoon’s voice as he moves to sit up properly, uncaring about being caught in such an unprofessional position. The look on Jihoon’s face conveys his irritated disposition, and Seungcheol wipes his hand over his face, prepared for a long, long lecture.

“I’ve booked a flight for you,” Jihoon says instead. He tosses the flight information non-too-gently onto the table. Seungcheol blinks a few times, and he feels more tired than he’s ever felt at the thought of an impending business trip. “You can thank me later, but first, I want an apology for always having to clean up after your shit.”

The first paper in the pile Jihoon threw onto the desk throws Seungcheol into motion, and he pulls an unsuspecting Jihoon into a deep kiss as the words ‘Model Shoot: Anshan, Liaoning’ spin through his head. He laughs goofily as they part, and Jihoon is left to straighten himself out before joining in with Seungcheol’s infectious laughter. As the weight of Seungcheol’s abrupt action settles in, the pair sober up and sink into the couch, Jihoon’s still-crinkled eyes staring at the messy table and Seungcheol smiling at the ceiling.

“If I bring him back,” Seungcheol starts, “there won’t be any more of this.” He intertwines his fingers with Jihoon’s briefly before tugging his hand back to run it through his hair. Jihoon hums in response, turning to face him.

“I know. But you love him.” There is no bitterness in Jihoon’s voice, only acceptance and a platonic kind of love. “Besides,” he continues, “only he has the patience to love you back.”

The pair break down into laughter for the second time that night, and Seungcheol basks in the hopeful glow he feels building up in his chest.

~

If Seungcheol thinks back, he can remember the day he asked Minghao to be his boyfriend. There were roses, he recalls, and parents opening the door and kindly ushering him in. He tries to squash down the memory of his own stutters, but the thing he remembers best about that moment is the beautiful blush that adorned Minghao’s cheeks, threatening to split apart with the force of his smile. _I thought you would never ask_ , Minghao had said before searching around wildly for a vase to put the flowers in.

~

This time is not much different, Seungcheol smiles to himself as he is practically pulled in by Minghao’s mother as his father waves brightly at him from the couch. He clutches a bouquet of roses tightly in his hands, glancing around the house as he waits for Minghao to come down from his room. Not much has changed. The same family photos still line the walls of the living room. The furniture looks the same, with the exception of the computer sitting in the corner that he has no doubt belongs to Minghao. Other than that though, everything looks exactly the same, down to the pretty pink blush Minghao sports as he catches Seungcheol’s eye while descending the narrow staircase. Seungcheol allows himself a small smile as he gestures towards the roses, which has Minghao grinning despite the hesitation Seungcheol sees in his eyes. Minghao approaches slowly, cautiously accepting the roses offered to him. When he looks up at Seungcheol though, he is practically beaming.

They both know that they won’t be perfect, that some mistakes are too big to ignore. But they are content for now with hope like fire in their veins. Seungcheol knows because Minghao is running into the kitchen, yelling for a glass cup from his mom before he returns to Seungcheol’s arms, sighing in relief.

“I thought you would never come.”


End file.
